


Dean

by WhovianThunder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Altar Sex, Blasphemy, Dark Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Possessive Dean Winchester, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Underage Drug Use, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Virgin Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhovianThunder/pseuds/WhovianThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgins are said to transcend beyond the depravity of humankind and stand out among the righteous. These pure souls are supposed to beckon us out of the darkness and into the warm glow of eternal light. However, there are some souls out there who are damned, with the sole purpose of corrupting the innocent one little sliver of temptation at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean

Innocence; that word which produces an array of images depicting vestal virgins draped in white cloth falling freely down their untouched bodies to the floor beneath their feet, their golden locks swaying inside the invisible waves of a gentle breeze. In the palms of their hands rests the proverbial fruit of righteousness, unsullied and fresh. They are the epitome of purity, the keepers of the code of morality. They frown upon the sinful desires of the flesh and avoid temptation at all costs. Despite the hormones ingrained in their genetic makeup since birth, they remain angels riding on clouds of chastity and virtue, seemingly oblivious to the sly snake slithering through the dirt in silence, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They don't notice him, but he's there, praying on their naïvety and weakening their resistance one little sliver of temptation at a time.

I remember when I was one of those virgins. Anybody who knew me would have sworn that if you looked up "good little boy" in the dictionary, my face would be the first thing you'd see. I was the one who got really good grades and ate my fruits and veggies. I helped old ladies across the street and dragged my dad to his bedroom every time I found him passed out on the floor in a drunken stupor. I never had a bad word for anyone and was always extremely respectful of other people, particularly my elders. But, above all else…I was a virgin. I abhorred the idea of sex and considered it an abominate of all things good and true. Only bad boys allowed their blood to become tainted by that kind of sin, and damned if I was going to end up like all the others. For fifteen years, I lived by those familiar rules of incorruptibility, the ones that played like a broken record in my head until I'd committed every word to memory. They were the unspoken rules of Colt, a guideline for how I chose to live my life. With that kind of attitude, I should have suspected that I'd be destined for defilement. But, unfortunately for me, I remained in a state of perpetual ignorance, mistakenly believing that I was formidable enough to withstand the weapons flown at me by lust, the merciless foe standing in the way of my path to self-righteousness. But underestimating my enemy was a mistake that eventually cost me dearly, if my lost virtue is anything to by. When I wasn't looking, he attacked me by sending something ten times stronger than any weapon in his godforsaken arsenal-he sent himself.

Dean Winchester. Lust incarnate. The one who could make happily married women soak their panties with juices that should have belonged to their husbands alone. Grown men have probably flung themselves at his feet at one time or another, gazing up in awe as they took in perfection in all its splendor, desperately wishing for just one taste of those beautiful lips, lips which tasted like nectar drawn from the craftiest of honeybees. Everyone desired him, and I was certainly no exception. But as hard I had tried to fight it, in the end, it was nothing more than a losing battle. Dean finally got what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I suppose I should go back to the day this all started, but reliving the past five months is probably going to feel worse than the moment I realized I was gonna be chained to Dean forever. You see, I've always had dreams of what I would become when I finally got out of the house and started making a name for myself. I was gonna go to law school, start a family. I was so sure of my future that the idea of an obstacle getting in the way of my happily ever after never occurred to me. I now know that I was a fool to believe that such an ending was in the cards for me. Father always used to say that if life didn't destroy you, someone else would. I guess I should have taken that into consideration the day I was unfortunate enough to meet the man who would prove him right.

I remember that Saturday morning like it was yesterday. I remember the birds chirping from the branches of a tree I'd planted in my front yard when I was seven, focusing their beady little eyes on my drooping form as I mowed my lawn. I remember the rays of the summer sun beating down on my bare back, no doubt making the sweat on my skin glisten in the harsh light. I remember the faded blue jeans and the torn Sketchers, the only clothes my drunk of a father had ever bought me. Hell, I even remember the number of kids who were playing outside that day, mostly because they spent a lot of their time pointing at my house and gasping at my dad from the upstairs window. I never did bother looking up to see what he was doing, but I'm pretty sure it was something indecent.

I remember everything about that day, because I'd lived it hundreds of times before. From the manual labor to the pitying gazes thrown my way by the parents residing in my neighborhood, I'd pretty much gotten used to spending every single weekend being the butt end of someone's joke. I'd mow my lawn, keep my head down so that I didn't have to look anyone in the eye, and then I'd go inside to perform my wonderful household duties because dear old dad always informed me that I was a pussy, and the pussies always did the housework. I remember thinking to myself, 'nothing's ever gonna change until you're out of high school, Sam. You just have to hang in there. Once college begins, you'll be far away from dad and nothing on this planet will be able to stop you from getting the life you've always wanted.'

Little did I know, the day I'd mapped out so perfectly in my head was about to change my life forever . .

It all started with gravel flying off the back wheels of a gorgeous 1967 Chevy Impala as it parked in the driveway across the street, the sound startling me out of my work. Shutting the mower off, I craned my neck curiously towards the old Harrison residence, interested in the illusive strangers intent on changing the very fabric of my entire existence. After all, very few people moved into my little town and even fewer stayed, so you can imagine how excited I was to have someone unfamiliar in my neck of the woods.

When the car door opened, I held my breath in anticipation. The thoughts buzzing around in my brain kept overlapping and I barely retained the presence of mind to produce a friendly face before a man emerged from the vehicle, turning to look in my direction as he slammed the door. The smile meant to welcome the new neighbors slipped off my face as my jaw dropped and my eyes widened in shock, the sight of the stranger's green eyes piercing a hole right through me when our gazes locked. A smirk tugged at the corner of his full lips, making me bow my head and resume my duties, ignoring the chuckle I heard from across the street before turning the lawnmower back on full speed.

That was the first time I saw Dean Winchester. Naturally, it all went downhill from there.

Dean was in the neighborhood a week before he spoke to me for the first time. We were in Mr. Keller's science class learning about DNA. I was furiously jotting down notes in my purple notebook, trying my best to ignore the boy next to me who kept rubbing a hand down my thigh in an invitation that I was so not ready to accept. After many failed attempts to gain my attention, he turned to glance admiringly at Dean, only for the appreciative smile to slide off his face as he took in the scowl my lovely neighbor aimed his way. I noticed the whole thing go down through my peripherals, as I couldn't be bothered to take my eyes away from the teacher long enough to care about whatever was going on around me. That, of course, didn't last.

"Sam," the boy next to me whispered. "That Dean kid is watching you."

I briefly shot a look his way before refocusing my eyes on the teacher. "I don't care, Andy. Leave me alone. All of this is gonna be on the test Friday. You should be taking notes."

"Yeah, but I think this guy like… _likes_  you or something. He's been asking about you, you know."

That got my attention. "Wait, what? What has he been asking?"

"Oh, you know…stuff. He found out about that purity ring you wear all the time. He wanted to know where you came from, why you were still a virgin at fifteen, why you've never been with anyone romantically. He even wanted to know about your parents. He wanted to know everything about you, Sam."

I stared at Andy in shock. I'd heard things about him through the whispers of students whose hushed voices carried across the halls of Lawrence High, some of the things they'd said to each other making me blush a dark shade of crimson. From everything I'd heard, it seemed as though Dean was a bit of a slut. More importantly, he was a cherry hound. Virgins turned him on something fierce, and that knowledge only fueled my resolve to stay as far away from him as I possibly could. When I found out that he was interested in the only virgin in school, I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I couldn't figure out why anyone would be interested in me at all. Virgin or not, I was a boring kid who did his homework and went to bed on time, the one who had a purity ring and preached about abstaining from sex, and the one who would most definitely  _not_  be doing anything even remotely sexual with the great Dean Winchester. Why me? I just didn't get it.

Before I could make any more inquiries, the bell signaling the end of my last period sounded from the top of the classrooom, instantly wiping the Winchester boy from my memory. As far as I was concerned, class was dismissed, and the time had finally come for me to take a trip to the school library in pursuit of a much-needed book for my Social Studies exam.

"Well, it's about time this boring class came to a close, eh?"

I sighed internally, putting my books in my backpack. "Go home, Andy. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

As I slowly rose from my chair, the breath I'd started to inhale got lodged in my throat when I heard heavy footsteps making their way towards me with questionable intent.

_Those don't belong to Andy_ , I thought to myself. A _ndy's right here beside me, pestering me with sexual advances I have no time for._

Fright overpowered my senses, and, in an attempt to make a mad dash for the doorway, I tripped over my own two feet and reached a hand out to steady myself against the wooden desk, spilling the contents of my opened bag onto the floor in the process.

_Shit._

I reached down and quickly threw everything back in my bag, hoping that the person who I knew was in the room with me would pass me by without a moment's hesitation. Pages rustled and flapped as they flew back into their dark enclosure, slicing my fingers in retaliation for the brutal mistreatment of their hard-covered bodies. Just as I thought I'd finally gotten them all back where they belonged, a stray found itself suspended right in front of my face by a calloused hand that was as foreign to me as the lust I could feel coursing through my veins like liquid fire.

Time stood still with the weight of the moment pressing hard against my chest, threatening to erupt my inner volcano without my permission as my head raised higher and higher-involuntarily, I might add-until I locked gazes with the most beautiful pair of green eyes I'd ever seen.

"You dropped this," a deep voice assured me, the tone slightly amused at my antics.

"Um," I responded eloquently.

He smiled at me, his full lips lopsided and voluptuous. I could feel myself hardening inside my jeans, the knowledge of my arousal hitting me hard in the gut.

"You gonna take this, sweet boy?" he asked intently, distracting me from the war my body was waging on me.

I removed the textbook from his fingers-careful not to touch his skin-and put my head down in shame. Why did I feel like this? What was causing my heart to beat in my throat? Who was this boy and why did he have such a unique effect on me?

With all of these questions floating around in my brain, I ran as fast as I could out of the stifling room, bypassing the library I'd originally intended to visit, and breathed a sigh of relief when a blast of warm air provided by the sizzling summer sun hit my face, proving to my disbelieving eyes that I was finally outside and away from the threat that evil boy posed to both my innocence and my sanity. Looking back on it now, how I'd managed to find the strength to laugh at the turquoise sky with the way I was feeling was a miracle all on its own. But no matter the fear, I found myself pushing it down and concentrating on the positive attributes of my current surroundings. For me, Dean was a thing of the past, a mere illusion that faded away in the wake of nature's extraordinary light, and it was with the accompaniment of this light that I made my way back home, reveling in the freeing mindset and the newfound bounce I'd suddenly acquired in my step.

After all, I'd survived the worst of it, right? What more could I possibly have to deal with?

* * *

 

My question, of course, was answered in the form of a very angry looking officer Morgan staring directly in my face as I approached my driveway. Beside him stood my father, beer bottle in hand, shouting obscenities that could make a porn star blush. Did I mention he was also in his underwear? Yeah. Good times.

"Morgan," I called, trying my best to remain calm. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Officer Morgan got straight to the point, for which I was grateful. "I'm gettin' real tired of seeing your father, Samuel."

I wanted to sarcastically imply the mutuality of our feelings, but a nagging suspicion told me I wouldn't exactly be doing myself any favors. Instead, I stayed silent.

"Do you have any idea what he's done?"

"No clue."

"Well, let me enlighten you, then. First, he goes into Lucky's. You know, that gay club down the hill? Gets himself plastered as all hell before preceding to publicly bash "faggots" in what is obviously a very gay friendly establishment. He gets kicked out, follows the road leading to Buckington Elementary School, takes off all his clothes-with the exception of his underwear-and begins going on anti-feminist rants about how little girls shouldn't be receiving an education in the same school as boys because they're all sluts who can't keep the cocks out of their wet cunts. Mind you, this was recess, where all the little boys and girls gathered together to witness your alcoholic father slut shame 8-year-olds."

Sighing internally, I pierced the bridge of my nose in exhaustion, wondering just how in the hell I expected to get my old man outta this one. "Look, I hate to ask, but-"

"You know I love you, Sam, and it's through sheer willpower that I've allowed this freak show to go on for so long, but he's gotta pay the price at some point. If Shephard gets wind of this, next week's town meeting is gonna be a hell of a riot."

"I realize that, but can't you just-"

"The neighborhood can't stand him, Sam. I know he's the only guardian you have, but if he keeps this up, he's gonna end up in jail and you're gonna finally get taken away. As much a pain in the ass as he is, you're better off with him than in the foster system at sixteen. You realize that, don't you?"

There it was; my worst fears finally coming to fruition. If I was completely honest with myself back then, I would have given him up. Anything was better than torturing myself by revisiting the completely implausible notion that my father would eventually get out of the funk he was in and be a proper parent to his kid. But I was in denial when it came to the truth. I didn't want to believe it because, as much as I hated to admit it, I still loved the guy. Drunk or not, he was my dad. What the hell could I do but ignore how horrible he was to me and pretend that I could fix him?

"Just-just give me one more chance to make it right. Please?"

Morgan cursed under his breath. I must have given him my puppy dog eyes of death. I'm pretty good at that-not to toot my own horn or anything. "This is the last fucking time, Sam. I mean it!"

"Thank you, sir," I replied, wrapping my father's arm around my shoulders. At my height, I always found it incredible when a person's upper limb could extend that far. Thank God dad was almost as tall as me. "You won't regret it. I promise."

"I'd better not."

With that, Morgan turned on his heels and sashayed down my freshly cut grass, hips swaying like a metronome. I watched with an almost morbid fascination, doing my best to ignore the overwhelming "gay" radar reminding me of my own sexuality, one I tried in vain to keep from my homophobic co-creator.

Dad must have noticed the way I watched the officer leave, because it didn't take long after I finally got him inside for him to slap the taste out of my mouth. It's funny how life works, isn't it?

"You little faggot," he growled, looking down on me as I fell to the floor on my side, spitting out blood. "Your mother should have aborted you when you were in the womb."

"Sucks for you, huh, pop?" I whispered, chuckling humorlessly from my place on the ground. "I bet she kept me around just to spite you."

Dad looked at me as if he couldn't figure me out, like I was a different species, rather than his own son. "Oh, I bet that makes you happy, doesn't it? Seein' your old man suffer. After all I've done for you, you want to destroy me. That's the evil talkin.' Damn the Lord for cursin' me with a sinful child. Well, that's all about to end, Samuel. Let's see if you're still a smartass by the time I'm through with you."

He laid in on me then, just as I hoped he would. I looked down at the tiny splotches of crimson painting color into my pale hands, grunting loudly with each kick I received to my poor stomach. It was always moments like these that had me questioning my reality. Was I even alive? Did the blood pumping through my body really provide proof of myself or was I nothing more than an illusion, a false identity created by a solipsist's imagination? My experiences, most of which I cannot really call my own, were constructed from books written by other people. Having been thrown into worlds that have nothing to do with me while I watch and feel everything from the sidelines, how could I possibly profess my belief in the existence of a self claiming to be my own? What does that make me? What does it say about me?

Believe it or not, despite my habit of questioning myself during my father's beatings (something I did extremely often), the pain resulting from the blows left me revitalized because it was the only thing in my life that I could really  _feel_. Everything always made me feel so numb, but the agony inflicted upon me always left me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I really was alive after all. That, in and of itself, was the most refreshing reality a boy like me could ever really hope for.

It was this disturbed way of thinking that kept me sustained during my punishment. The blows didn't last long, though they certainly left their mark. When it was over, father passed out drunk on his bed. I laid there on the floor staring up at the ceiling, wheezing and spluttering like the dumbass dad always said I was. Eventually, I drifted off into a fitful sleep, and as the sweet abyss of unconsciousness took me over, I thought of my mother, her face twisting and distorting into an image of abnormality that reminded me of a riddle I couldn't decipher, another clue that would forever remain hidden from view. Did my mother love me? Or did she see evil in me the way father did? I believed I was too far gone to care. Was that a sign of the darkness lurking within? Was I doomed?

_You're never gonna amount to nothin', Samuel._

That's not true. I'll show you, dad. I'll show you.

* * *

 

"Sam? Hey, Sam! What's shakin'?"

_Good God._

If there was one thing I could always count on during school hours, it was Andy Bartell. With one hand holding my dick and the other pressed up against the tile walls of the boy's bathroom, I could feel him next to me as he unzipped his pants, tryin' real hard to catch a glimpse at my junk.

"My crotch apparently," I muttered, giving my dick a good shake.

"Ha, ha. So, what did you think of Mr. Sanchez's outburst in school today?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. You're in the advanced math class," he said, emphasizing "advanced" like I was a geek for being smart enough to upgrade. "You should have seen it. It was great."

"I'll bet. Look, Andy, I'm kinda tired right now and I still got one more class until the day is over. Mind if I have a couple minutes to myself?"

The disappointed look on his face almost made me feel bad, but not nearly enough to forsake the privacy I desperately needed before P.E.

"Yeah, o-okay. Hey, I'll see you tomorrow in English."

"Sure thing."

When Andy finally made his departure, I let my forehead fall against the cool, smooth surface of the mirror above the sink, breathing a sigh of relief. The few precious moments I had to myself were so rare that I could barely go a second without letting a little moan slip past my lips in satisfaction, reveling in the silence of solitude. I was so caught up in the beauty of the moment that I didn't hear the bathroom door open until it was too late. Before I could comprehend what was happening, I caught a glimpse at a pair of green eyes peering hypnotically at me through the glass.

_Oh, no._

I should have run. I know that now. But how could I have known what he was back then? What I was destined to become ensnared in his clutches like a fly tangled in a spider's web? Even now, long after the flames of unbridled desire have been fanned by familiarity, I can still remember the way he looked at me that fateful day: lips frozen in that ever present, but always subtle smirk, leather jacket turned upward at the collar, drawing attention to the milky white skin of his neck, hands in the pockets of his torn up blue jeans, black boots creating heavy footsteps on the bathroom floor. He was perfection, plain and simple as the nose on my face, but it was his eyes that always got to me, those miraculous windows to a soul he couldn't have possessed, perhaps lost in some void he'd never venture into to retrieve. I could have gotten lost within their depths, impressionable as I was in those days. There was just something so . . . Enticing about the way he regarded me, breathing me in like I held the most intoxicating scent on earth.

How could I refuse him?

Why would I want to?

"H-hi," I murmured.

His smile was fleeting, like the ripple created by a rock thrown in water. His silence was loud, his intent even louder. It frightened me. "I'm Sam."

"I know who you are," he replied quietly. That voice, smooth as a serpent's dance, sent vibrations that flowed through every inch of my body, filling it with a lust my innocent nature didn't know how to handle.

What was happening to me? Was my blood so tainted by sin that Satan saw fit to damn me to hell right next to a bathroom stall? Hadn't I been enough, done enough to ensure my place within God's heavenly circle? I got good grades, I respected my parents, I stayed a virgin. I did everything that was asked of me, everything father told me to do just so I wouldn't be in the predicament I was in now, yet it was all for nothing, wasn't it? What did I do wrong?

"Won't you come into my parlor?"

I looked up, suddenly aware of my brief detachment from reality. Did I really just zone out, right here, in front of a complete stranger? "Excuse me?"

"I've seen you around, you know. You live across the street from me, right?"

"Uh . . . Y-yeah. Yeah, I do. Thanks, by the way, for, uh . . . helping me with my books that day."

He grinned at me then, teeth reminding me of a shark approaching an unsuspecting deep sea diver. "Sure. What are friends for, right?"

"Are we friends?" I asked timidly.

A lecherous smile appeared on his mouth as he took a step forward, invading my personal space. The desires he was trying to hide from me were beginning to show through the cracks, the sight of his need begging me to retreat so that I could keep as much distance as possible between us. Such scampering obviously wasn't in my life plan, however, as I was so carelessly reminded when I found myself wedged between the sink and his body, forcing me to reach behind and grasp the edge with my long, bony fingers. Closer and closer he came, the scent of him invading my nostrils and making me hard. I couldn't concentrate on much around me, but I could vaguely hear my father's voice from the darkest recesses of my subconscious, taunting me with the evil he knew I'd eventually become.

_I told you it would happen, Sam. I told you the evil was inside you all along._

"No!" I said aloud, shaking my head rapidly.

_You're entertaining it now, aren't you? You want to get your asshole jam packed full of the Devil's seed. You want to let him do it to you, right here in the middle of the bathroom, just like the dirty boy you are, the dirty boy I always knew you would be._

"Stop!" I was clutching my ears now, falling to the ground in terror.

_Filthy boy. The Devil's whore. That's what you are. That's what you'll always be. You're worthless. You're nothing. You killed your mother with your sin and now you're gonna kill yourself. All you gotta do is let him fuck you, Sam. Let the Devil inside, nice and easy. Let him do it. Let him do it! LET HIM DO IT!_

"AHHH! GET OUTTA MY HEAD!"

For as long as I live, I don't think I'll ever forget that moment when the part of myself I'd fought with for so long came to the surface, ripping violently through the deep core of my being. I'd tried so hard to keep it hidden from view, away from the prying eyes of outsiders who'd just judge me and tell me things dad would have sworn he already knew, validating both his words and my fears. For so long I'd tried and, by some miracle, it'd worked . . . until now.

My tears felt like molten lava dripping down my moist cheeks as I beat down on my head over and over, screaming like a maniac while I made a vain attempt to put my abusive father out of my mind. I wasn't aware of just how long my outburst lasted, and I don't think I really gave a damn at that point. All I could think was clawing the words I could hear out of me until I didn't have to hear them anymore or feel this persistent guilt for the darkness dad claimed I possessed. The pain was just so strong, the shame even stronger, that I couldn't have stopped it from happening even if I'd tried.

I had to let it out. I just had to.

Eventually, my panic subsided, and I slowly came back to myself. The longer I sat there, the clearer my vision became. My father's voice slowly faded away, back into the inner walls they'd escaped from, where they could once again terrorize me from within. I took shaky breaths, pulling slightly on my long, floppy brown hair in a pathetic attempt to bring me back to reality. After what felt like forever, something clicked and I remembered what had happened before the panic settled in. Looking up, I was shocked to discover that my "friend" hadn't left, rather he was staring down at me with contorted features, confused and seemingly fascinated with my brilliant display of adolescent insanity.

"I'm sorry," I whispered pitifully. "I-I-I think I should go now."

I ran out of the bathroom without looking back. I ran from him, from my father, from myself . . . from everything. I ran until my legs became dead weights dragging me down into the dirt and when I finally fell from exhaustion, right in front of an oak tree in the middle of nowhere, I placed my face inside the nook of my arm and I cried. Suddenly, my carefully constructed wall of feigned normalcy crumbled around me while I sat there, helpless to stop it. It was at that moment that I became convinced of my dire need for God's forgiveness. I'd almost let myself fall right into the hands of temptation like father always said I would and that just couldn't happen again. I wouldn't let it.

I couldn't be weak. I had to fight the dark powers forcing me to commit evil deeds in the name of he who preys on the innocent. My mind must be razor sharp, my will as strong as an ox. Dad wasn't going to trick me into believing I was evil, not when I'd fought so hard to convince him otherwise. I'd show him. I'd show everybody. I could resist the darkness, the sin, the Devil himself. I knew I could. There was just one thing standing in my way . . .

And he scared the shit out of me


End file.
